by Roman Koidl
Our food arrived. I grabbed my chopsticks not really knowing how to use them. I place them between thumb and index finger and tried to pick up some sushi.
“You never did this before, did you?” she grinned.
“Is it so obvious?” I responded smiling at her.
She put her hand on mine and guided the chopstick to the sashimi.
“It's not that hard. Look. Grab it without pressure and everything will happen by itself,” she explained patiently.
She guided my hand holding the chopstick toward her mouth. She smiled at me and took the sashimi into her mouth. As she chewed, she started giggling.
“Ladies first,” she said cheekily.
I was caught off guard by her comment.
“Patrick relax. You seem kinda nervous,” she added patting my shoulder.
Believe me, I was. Here was this beautiful creature teaching me how to eat with chopsticks and even being playful about it.
“No, I'm just tired,” I replied dryly.
As the evening progressed, I started to warm up and actually became witty. She ordered us several rounds of sake. I never had it before but I started to like this Japanese rice wine. As the alcohol was flowing I got braver.
“Do you miss your ex?” I asked with the hopes to not hear what I expected to hear.
“That asshole? No way. I'm happy he's gone. Five years of my life that I wasted,” she replied instantly.
Her voice was vibrating in anger as she talked about him. It seemed like she still had a lot of emotional ties to him.
“What about you, got a girlfriend?” she rebounded.
“Nope. I actually don't have time right now,” I said tossing the empty glass between my hands.
In reality I would have loved to have a girl at my side. Once I even thought of staging an attack on a girl by a friend of mine so I could save her. I was that desperate to meet a girl.
“I'm surprised you're single?” she said in disbelief.
“Why is that?” I asked, curiously questioning my own ears.
“You’re handsome, smart, and most of all you’re understanding,” she added.
I felt a rush of confidence going through me. I never saw myself as handsome, smart, or understanding. The only woman that ever said I am handsome was my mom. And I only think she said that to reconfirm to herself, that she and my dad couldn't be that bad looking.
It was getting late. I had to be at school early the next day. But I didn't want to leave just yet. I was afraid that I would never get so close to her again. After paying we walked along the empty streets for a while.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“A few train stops from here. But don't worry about me. I'm a big girl,” she responded.
I actually didn't think of taking her home. I only asked to make conversation. But the fact that she picked up the topic gave me a green light.
“No, please I insist. But I hope I don't get raped on the way
back,” I said sarcastically.
She laughed.
“Patrick, do you believe that we are alone?” she asked as she was looking up to the stars.
“I do hope so, I have enough competition down here already,” I replied.
She laughed again. I was playing the game. I was impressed by myself.
“Are you at work tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes, I have to finish an article about this new album release,” I explained. “You?” I asked.
“Yes. As every day. I should have maybe enrolled in school, but I am only twenty. I can still do that. Now I want to work,” she continued.
We got to her apartment building.
“This is a quiet area, sure I won't get raped on my way home?” I asked again.
“Stop it, you’re not that handsome,” she slapped my chest with the palm of her hand.
“Thanks for the lovely evening,” she added standing in front of the building’s entrance.
“It was fun. Let's do it again sometime,” I said, unsure whether I should give her a hug or perhaps even a kiss.
She took the initiative and kissed me on my lips. Rapidly she tilted her head back and smiled at me. I looked like a deer in the headlights.
“Good night,” she smiled, disappearing behind the door.
I kept working for the magazine for a few more months but eventually I felt like something new. It was nice to have all these benefits like concerts and free entries into night clubs. But I wanted a job. Not an internship anymore. And I wanted something that would bring me closer to my dream. I wanted to become a TV host, so I had to go where I could get closer to my dream. The radio.
As Christmas came closer my mom decorated the entire house with little Santa Clause figures and candles. There were tons of chocolate and cookies on nearly every table, and a Christmas tree in the middle of the living room right in front of the TV. I hated that. The room was big enough to put it somewhere else. But that never happened, even up to this day.
My Dad used to chop down the Christmas tree himself, when my brother and I were still kids. Now my brother and I are older and don’t get that excited about standing in the freezing cold in some forest, surveying all kinds of trees in the search for the perfect Christmas tree. Now my dad just goes to the next supermarket to buy one. He should have always done it like that.
One evening shortly before Christmas Eve, I was surfing the internet and I came along an ad for a radio internship. “Come and work for Radio Sun in South Africa!!!” Africa? That must be hot, I thought to myself. Even a fridge was hotter than the cold winter nights at that time in my city. I was fascinated by the idea of going there. I saw myself riding on elephants, drinking Mojitos in the desert and wearing flip flops all day long. I enjoyed that fantasy. I didn’t tell anyone about my idea to apply for it. I figured, if I don’t get the job I won’t feel embarrassed. I typed a nice cover letter and attached my resume and sent it to exotic and mysterious Africa. Gosh, I still get excited thinking about it.
I never really expected an answer but surprisingly I got one. I got an email stating that they needed a voice sample from me. Oh my God, this is it. Send them a voice sample and I am off to Africa is what I thought. I got out my tape recorder, told my mother not to come into my room, and I recorded myself reading out newspaper articles. Well, I surely wouldn’t do it like this today but at that time it seemed appropriate to me. I sent off the tape and waited. And waited and waited even more. I gave up on the idea of going to Africa. At least it was a nice dream.
I still kept working for City Lights but I kept applying to all kinds of radio stations in the meantime. Things between Loretta and I became serious. I couldn't believe I was saying it, but we were dating. I never had a girlfriend before, so it was hard for me to grasp this feeling. It was intense. We saw each other every day. Either at work or after work. She knew about my application to Africa.
"Are you sure I should go if they get back to me?” I asked her.
"Patrick, you would be stupid if you didn’t."
Her faith gave me strength.
Chapter 4
The ticket to Africa
A few months went by when suddenly the phone rang. A deep and very sexy voice sounded out of the telephone “Hello, this is Ms. M’Beka from Radio Sun in South Africa. Can I speak to Patrick, please?”
“Hello! Speaking!” I responded anxiously.
“Patrick, you sent us a very nice voice demo of yours. We can imagine inviting you to South Africa to intern for us”.
I was not able to answer right away. It was too hard to believe to be true. This was my ticket to Africa.
I met up with Loretta later that day. I picked her up from work. It was my day off.
“You look beautiful,” I told her as she emerged from the office building, “I have exciting news!” I blurted out before she was even able to greet me, “I got it! I got it!,” I said overly excited.
“You got what?,” Loretta asked confused.
“The internship in
South Africa!” I took her hand as she listened to my words.
“Oh, yeah, right. I remember. Congratulations,” she answered powerless.
“Are you OK with me getting it?” I squeezed her hand slightly as I asked.
“Sure, it’s great news. When are you flying?”.
I could sense from the sound of her voice that she wasn't happy about this development.
“I don't know yet for sure but I am only gone for three months... I’m not getting good vibes from you,” my voice shivered as I talked.
I was afraid to hear what I didn't want to hear.
“Look Patrick, I don't know if I can do this. I mean, we just met and it's fun and beautiful with you but I am too young for a long distance relationship,” her look was filled with fear. I knew that she couldn't be serious and just end this from one day to the other.
“I understand you very well,” I said calmly.
“As I said it's only for three months and then I am back. Time will fly,” I tried to persuade her.
“Maybe you’re right, but I am not sure if I want to wait,” she said looking at me as if she was sorry for her feelings.
It was like a kick in the groin as I heard her words.
“Patrick, why don’t you go to Africa, follow your dreams and we will see what happens. But I cannot promise you anything.”
I sat down at a nearby bench.
“Are you sure you want this?” I asked hoping for a miracle.
“Yes. I was thinking about it for a while,” her voice was still filled with fear.
“I understand,” I replied not looking at her.
“Patrick, I have to go. I think it's best if you don't come with me.”
As she walked away, I remained, sitting on the bench for a while, thinking if I should cancel the internship and stay with her. Maybe that would turn things around. But then I remembered what my brother once told me. The end of the first relationship is always the hardest. You believe that you will never again find a person like the one you were with or you maybe never even find anyone at all. Crazy thoughts. At that time I didn't understand what he was trying to explain to me. Now I do. He was right, and I knew that life would go one no matter what. If I was able to find such a great girl to begin with, why shouldn't I be able to find one again? I had to go to Africa.
As it got later and dawn kicked in, I got up to go home. I was walking to the train station hoping she would call, saying that she thought through it and realized she missed me.
The train was running late. Standing there at the train station looking into empty space was a weird feeling. My thoughts were going wild. I looked at my phone every three seconds checking if she called or sent me a text. Maybe I didn’t have any reception?
I was becoming stupid. The station was deserted. It seemed I was the only one waiting in this tunnel. I looked around and spotted a vending machine against the wall. Ice cold drinks and snacks were making me feel slightly thirsty. I found some coins in my pocket. Let’s get a coke. The coins rattled down the machine as I fed it. 5, 2. I punched in the numbers and a little wheel started to transport a bottle of Coke to the front of the glass. Right as the bottle reached the edge, it got stuck and didn’t fall into the chamber. Great! I breathed heavily, and then started to kick and shake the heavy machine. The bottle didn’t move. Nothing seems to work right in my life. Why did this have to happen? I broke down at the machine sitting on the floor, crying. I didn’t know a human body could create so many tears. I was happy no one was at the station to see me in this state.
I called Michael, the magazine owner, the next day and told him that I was leaving for Africa and wouldn’t be coming in any more. I actually didn't have the guts to see Loretta again. I knew that even if I stayed, the relationship would not be saved. Something else would come up and cause problems...and Africa could be a life-changing opportunity for me.
A few days later I was able to get back on track. I met a childhood friend for drinks that evening. It was a welcoming distraction to the mess that was happening in my private life. We met down at a local bar. John took a gulp out of his glass full of beer and said “Patrick, get yourself a Latina.“
“Loretta was of Italian descent,” I reminded him sitting beside him at the bar.
“I know, but honestly get yourself a real Latina, not some descent from Europe,” his voice was passionate.
“Why is that?” I asked, seeing our reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
“The heat gene my friend,” he responded grabbing his beer.
“The heat gene?” I laughed.
“Exactly. The heat gene. Latinas can get mad in an instant. We men don't even know what hit us. I could be sitting there thinking of nothing bad and suddenly she gets all mad at me. But as fast as she gets mad she cools down again. I'm still working on the issue for days and for her it's already forgotten,” he explained to me. “That's bull. Every girl can get mad sometimes. Regardless of where she is from,” I tried to counter argument.
“Sure but not in this sexually passionate way my friend. I'm telling you. This last chick I dated, she was from Mexico. I gave her some red wine from Chile and she got extremely mad at me. She acted like I insulted her family. She was shouting at me that she doesn't like it and I don't respect her. Jesus, then after just five minutes, I swear to God, she was fine. I sat there like a train just hit me, and then she was talking about her language school,” he was jumping off his seat as he was telling the story.
“John, it's not the heat gene. It's only has to do with your weird taste. Stop dating wackos. Get yourself a decent girl!”
I tried to bring him back to reality.
“Believe me, you will never want to miss the positive effects of the heat gene,” he said taking another gulp of beer.
“Positive effects?” I asked.
“The sex. I'm telling you. After you’ve driven a Lamborghini, you won’t want to get back onto a bicycle,” his face lit up.
I liked the picture he drew. But it was still hard to believe what he was saying.
“I must admit, that sex with Loretta was sometimes awkward. It didn't seem to flow. She always asked me which position I would like next,” I explained to him.
“You see. With the heat gene everything happens automatically without having to check back,” he replied.
“Ok, the next girl I date will be 100% Latina. Happy?” John's eyes sparkled with joy as I made my promise.
“I hope you’re not messing around,” he warned me with a smile.
As the days went on I had a lot of organizing to do for my upcoming journey to Africa. Four weeks after I got the confirmation from Radio Sun, I was on my way. Everybody came to the airport to say good bye: Mom, Dad, my brother, and some of my closest friends. It was a very moving moment for me but, on the other hand, I was so excited about what laid in front of me. As I cleared security, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hi Patrick,” a very familiar voice said.
“Loretta?” I recognized her voice but I couldn't believe it.
“Are you about to take off?” she asked calmly.
“Not yet. I still have about an hour or so,” I replied still in shock that she was actually calling me.
In four weeks I didn't get one single life sign from her and now shortly before I am leaving she reaches out to me.
“I just wanted to wish you a safe flight and please have fun there.” she said.
“Thanks you but how do you know that I’m flying today,” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know, I miss you and I am sorry!”
She nearly knocked me out of my socks with this confession.
“You really hurt me when you told me that you are leaving but I know it’s for the best,” she continued taking a deep breath to reconsider her next words.
“I tried to forget you and move on, but you are burned deep inside my heart and mind,” she explained.
“I don't want to los
e you. I hope we can stay in contact and see how things work out when you are back,” she suggested.
“You are still the love of my life,” she added quickly.
“Well, I don’t know what to say. You dumped me and now you want me back?” I replied passionless.
Even though I understood her motives at the time, I still had my doubts about her sudden change of mind.
“Yes, but I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore. I messed up,” she realized.
As we were talking I got closer to my gate. The seats were all taken and my battery was about to die.
“Loretta, I missed you a lot and there was no day that I didn't wake up at three in the morning thinking of the precious times we had, fearing that they would never return,” I answered.
“I was dreaming of you and me how we met at work. How we danced together at the night club and experienced this magical connection. Sometimes I woke up feeling depressed because this was all in the past and would never occur again,” I continued.
My phone was beeping warning me that the battery would deplete any minute. I tried to ignore the sound.
“Can you imagine how I feel now that you are calling again?” I asked her.
The other side stayed silent. No reaction.
“Loretta, are you there?” I said after waiting for a few seconds. Still no answer.
I looked at my phone and it was off. I tried to switch it on but it didn't let me. The battery was gone. I wasn't sure when exactly
the phone died. After my last sentence, before, or during? I felt terrible. I looked around but couldn't see any phone booths or plug molds.
“PASSENGERS OF FLIGHT NA 143 TO DURBAN, SOUTH AFRICA PLEASE PROCEED TO GATE 26. WE ARE STARTING TO BOARD”
The speakers blared at me.
I didn't have time to look for a phone anymore. I had to leave the country. During the eleven hour flight I couldn't stop thinking of Loretta. Was she really honest about her words or only emotional? How will she react when I call her from Africa? Will she still feel the same? The questions were haunting me. I fell asleep for a little while but suddenly woke up, thinking Loretta was sitting beside me. Glancing to the wrinkled elderly man in the seat next to mine, I was disappointed. She wasn't here.